


Emergency Evac

by firelord65



Series: Fecky's Whumptober Oneshots [12]
Category: Black Widow (Comics), Hitman (Video Games), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Winter Soldier (Comics)
Genre: Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Marvel Characters in the Hitman Universe, Missions Gone Wrong, Serious Injuries, The Showstopper (Hitman), Whumptober 2020, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-13
Updated: 2020-10-13
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:27:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26982157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firelord65/pseuds/firelord65
Summary: Natasha and the Winter Soldier are assigned two targets to eliminate in Paris: Viktor Novikov and Dalia Margolis
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Natasha Romanov
Series: Fecky's Whumptober Oneshots [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1950469
Comments: 1
Kudos: 3
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	Emergency Evac

**Author's Note:**

> Since I'm just kind of making stuff up as I go with the Whumptober event, I decided today to fuse Marvel assassins with Hitman's targets. Because why not?
> 
> Day 12: I Think I’ve Broken Something - ~~Broken Down~~ | Broken Bones | ~~Broken Trust~~ \+ Alt Carrying/Support

Soldat studied his charge through his binoculars. He had stationed himself in the window of an empty hotel room. He wasn't allowed to follow the young women into her mission, yet he was still expected to ensure the job was completed. Their client didn't care how it got done, not fundamentally. But their employers had pressed that Natasha was expected to attempt first. If she succeeded, Soldat would have just been an unneeded preventative measure. A second pistol in the gear bag. If she didn't… Well it didn't affect him either way.

Still, he took it upon himself to monitor her movements as dutifully as he could. Granted she was an infiltrator among a rather bustling Parisian fashion show, so the task was rather futile, but Soldat did not waver. When he lost sight of her through the windows of the borrowed mansion, he was patient. Ever constant sweeping would always reveal her again, her red hair standing out like a beacon to him.

She had changed partway through, dressed in the same crisp white shirt and black vest of the serving men and women. Soldat's lips curled briefly. It was a clever decision. Poison was much easier to administer when you were trusted to handle the food. No need for split second passes over glasses or waiting for the target to adjourn to the restroom. Natasha would be able to spin the tray in her palm to give their first target one of the dosed crudités.

Natasha vanished again from view. Soldat noted how the fashion label owner was whisked away by his personal guard, never to reappear again among the fawning public. One target down. Next was Novikov's wife, Dalia. She was the real interest from their client, from what Soldat had gleaned from the dossier. Novikov was the bankroll, but Dalia was the ringleader. The one who had bought and sold intel a little too close for comfort.

Several long minutes passed. Soldat continued his sweep with his binoculars without much success. And then he spotted movement at the very roof of the palace. One of the towers to the East was under renovation. Squinting in the fading dusk light, Soldat watched as Natasha - now in a black suit he recognized from the guards - was sliding down the scaffolding to quickly drop from level to level. There weren't any ladders there, so this was quite reckless. Her hair was disheveled and she kept looking up at the top of the tower.

Subtlety was typically Natasha's forte. This was why she had been instructed to go in first. The Soldat would easily be able to eliminate either target and their complement of guards. He just also may have brought the entire fashion show down with them. Natasha was supposed to be more clever than that. That was what the Madame drilled into her girls.

There, like ants erupting from an anthill, guards started to pop out from the same balcony that Natasha had descended from. They were brandishing weapons, scouring for where she had gone to. Dropping his view back down, Soldat watched as Natasha slipped inside once more. He caught glimpses of her through the windows; two more private security went down with a pair of high kicks. And some random dignitary as well, though he looked like he more or less fainted at the sight of her.

And then she stumbled onto another miniscule balcony. Shouts were starting to carry from the other windows of the palace even across the river to the Soldat's window. Natasha took a long pause on the balcony before throwing herself over the railing. Soldat surged forward instinctively, though there was nothing he could do from all the way across the river.

She hadn't jumped down to the ground level. Natasha was gripping the ledge and moving hand over hand along the crumbling architecture of the building. Soldat found her target and clicked his tongue. She was heading to a drainpipe, one that would dump her more or less into a dark little staircase that she had originally taken to slip into the servant areas downstairs.

It was close to where the armed guards were now pacing anxiously; they had originally been politely manning the VIP entrance. Now they were angrily shouting at the fashion show participants and brandishing firearms. Natasha was blatantly exposed against the building as she finally reached the drainpipe.

She dropped like a stone. It was too far to tell what had happened; maybe her grip had lost out. Maybe it was intentional. Soldat held his breath as he remained trapped in his own window and he waited for her to reappear.

Minutes stretched. The private guards continued to rove, their motions becoming more and more irritated. Soldat scanned every window he could spy from his perch. None revealed the red headed young woman. After ten minutes without success, he cursed and tossed the binoculars to the side. He would have to extract her. Taking the stairs two at a time and checking the clip of his own silenced pistol, Soldat swept down and out of the hotel.

Getting onto the Palace grounds took ages. He had to take a circuitous path to first cross the narrow river and then slip in through the delivery entrance. Things had devolved into tense chaos. No longer were the rent-a-cops in their black and yellow jackets dutifully checking every one of the serving staff. They were hustling around the front of the building and escorting out angry looking patrols. Soldat brushed past a pack of upset cooks and serving people to make his way inside. There was a stairwell that took him directly to the basement, bypassing the cacophonous partygoers and security.

The lighting was low and ineffective. Soldat drew his weapon, relying on his wide form to be able to obscure it from view. The first room he stepped into was a security office, manned by a single rent-a-cop. Soldat put two bullets into the back of his head before he had finished standing up from his chair. He pushed the dead man from the desk and studied the cameras with a frown. Nearly all of them were in the upstairs areas, all intended to monitor the party's goings on. Natasha was nowhere to be seen.

Cursing again, Soldat strode out through the back door and swept through the halls. He spotted a kitchen and ignored it. Too busy for Natasha to have risked hiding out in. His attention was drawn to a central room stuffed with racks of wine. Keeping his weapon at the ready, Soldat edged inside. He could hear someone shifting inside, someone who was not looking to evacuate like all the others.

He brought his pistol up and stuck it squarely in their face. Natasha's green eyes did not flash in fear. Relief, palpable and overwhelming, washed over her. "You!" she sputtered. She was still in her stolen suit, the jacket several sizes too large.

"We have to go," Soldat insisted after he dropped his pistol back to a safe position. It wouldn't do to kill the young woman he had come to extract.

Natasha grimaced and looked down at her leg. It was then that Soldat spotted the issue. The black wool of the pant leg was stained with blood. "Shot?" he pressed, kneeling down to pull up the fabric. She didn't have to respond when he saw the sharp spike of bone that was peeking out from her shin. "Ah," Soldat said.

"Can't walk," she spat between clenched teeth. He realized now that her hands were shaking where they were gripping the shelf of wines behind her. She was barely holding herself upright. The injury needed tending and quickly.

Soldat holstered his pistol and moved to Natasha's side. She let out an undignified squeak when he picked her up followed by all the color - what little there was - leeching out of her face. Every motion must have been further agitating the broken limb. There was little other opportunity, however. He studied her expression briefly, waiting for a signal to stop or proceed.

After a shaky breath, Natasha nodded once. She would soldier through the pain. They needed to leave, yesterday.

"The targets?" Soldat asked as he started towards one of the emergency exits their dossier had identified. It would lead down into the catacombs - not ideal, but better than being exposed on the surface streets - and eventually they would be able to find their way to a safe house.

"Eliminated. I used a double dose just to make sure even if they pumped his stomach, it wouldn't be enough," Natasha said. She had to pause while Soldat shouldered open the thick door, her eyes wet with unshed tears. Madame B's girls did not cry over broken bones.

"And Dalia?" Soldat asked as he stepped down the stairs. She answered once they were on level ground, her knuckles between her teeth to keep from crying out on each step.

"Two shots between the eyes. I was moving the body when someone spotted me from across the attic," she whispered.

Soldat nodded, relieved that despite the ultimate lack of subtlety the task had been accomplished. It would be enough, he thought, that their employers might not care about the chaos that followed. No one would be able to identify Natasha, particularly when the Soldat had put three shots in the hard drive of the security system.

"You will be more careful next time," Soldat said confidently. Natasha nodded again. "Good."


End file.
